stradivarius
by malfaisance
Summary: "Does it hurt still?" she asks. She can feel his heart beat beneath her palm. He looks at her, eyes dark, unblinking, and clear. "Every day." / Or, the Institute without Jem.


**disclaimer**: I don't own anything.

**note**: Very drabbly, probably very sucky.  
>This is my first time in this fandom. Like, so new I didn't even read anyone else's stories, but I'll get around to that. I don't normally deviate from the Clique fandom, so this is new for me, and I'm kind of freaking. I hope I did everyone justice, but I probably didn't. Fingers crossed I didn't butcher them <em>too <em>badly, though. Let me know what you think though! I'd like to write more at some point.

x Tawni

* * *

><p><em>and I'm here to remind you<br>of the mess you made when you went away  
><em>- Alanis Morissette, You Oughta Know

.

It goes on. That's all that matters.

/

Sometimes she forgets he's gone — not _gone-gone_, but gone all the same — and she'll throw his bedroom door open to find an empty bed, walls with no soul. The violin's gone, somewhere in Will's room, just like he promised, and she remembers. Oh, she _remembers_.

(On the worst days, she'll open that door to find another Shadowhunter, one without silver hair and light eyes, one that she doesn't love.)

It hits her hard, this heavy weight on her chest, complicating her breathing. She gasps, pressing her hand against her mouth, and backs up until she hits something. It's the wall, normally; sometimes it's Will, because he knows, but nothing ever stops that feeling from brewing deep in her stomach.

/

She outlines the scar on Will's chest — the most important rune of all — and he freezes up.

"Does it hurt still?" she asks. She can feel his heart beat beneath her palm.

He looks at her, eyes dark, unblinking, and clear. "Every day."

Tessa hums under her breath, takes her hand away from the mark, imagines the blood that covers her fingers. It looks crooked now, severed down the middle, broken, but it's the most beautiful rune Will has.

/

Once, he lived across the hall from her, and his music would lull her to sleep. Now, she sleeps in Will's bed, curled into his side like he's her lifeline.

The jade pendant is hidden away in a drawer. It adds an extra weight to the pain, she thinks, even though the necklace itself isn't heavy at all. She sees the way Will looks at it, too, like it's some sort of reminder of what can never be.

Not necessarily the wedding, but Jem, and Will gets that expression on his face — the one where he looks like he might cry, but he doesn't. He claws at his broken parabatai rune instead, nails digging into flesh, like he needs to get rid of it right away.

Little crescents embed into his skin, angry and red. She kisses each and every one of them, but the ache is still there. Still real.

/

It's the nightmares that get to her. She feels as if she's still burning up from the angel fire, thrashing around, while a number of inexplicable events occur in her head. Jem's there, and Will's there, and she's there, but there's no way to save them both, and she can't choose in time. They both die — _gone-gone_ this time — and she's alone.

She gets awakened by Will's lips against her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, but never her mouth. He holds her until she stops quaking, her hair stuck to her face. His arms are strong and familiar around her, muscled and inked, and she feels the fear escape her every time his grip tightens.

They stay there for what feels like hours, until the sun begins to rise, pink and orange in the sky. His heart beat matches up with hers, bringing it from frantic to calm the longer they stay there. When she looks up at him sometime later to thank him, she sees the crazed blue in his eye, and changes her mind, knowing he's been plagued with the same nightmares as she.

He didn't kiss her mouth before, so she kisses his now, even though she knows it doesn't make much of a difference.

/

Eventually, the pain of Jem's absence fades, until it's nothing more than an ache. Will is able to smile again without feeling guilty, and Tessa can walk past his old room without the familiar tugging of her heartstrings.

But sometimes, when the Institute is too quiet, and she listens hard enough, she can hear the sound of violin strings, and knows even though Jem Carstairs is no longer there, he never left, not really.


End file.
